The New Yorker is Back in My Good Graces; FancifulAm I a Sorceress? Too Much Time on My Hands ;Grieving For the Sultan;

My goodness, gracious great balls of fire; Follow this link and you shall surely die laughing
which is a good way to go. It is SO clever and funny and timely.

My thinking during this solitary, sequestered time is becoming most fanciful. A fanciful girl:, inventive; whimsical, impractical, dreamy, quixotic; out of touch with reality, in a world of one’s own, imaginative ANTONYMS down-to-earth.

Here is an example. It occurred to me I am a sorcerous – the word came to me and so of course, I googled it.”A noun. the practice of attempting to foretell future events or discover hidden knowledge by occult or supernatural means. augury; prophecy: The divination of the high priest was fulfilled. Then this definition: Magical, mysterious, and quite possibly mythical, a sorcerer is a name for a spell-casting wizard. Use the noun sorcerer when you’re talking about a magician who practices enchantments and conjures spells. Sorcerers appear in many fantasy novels and Shakespeare plays. The word for a female sorcerer is sorceress. I do not think I am a sorceress but what was that strange omen about Dubai and Sodom and Gomorra?

But it is not totally inexplicable that I am thinking of the term sorceress and its related label, witch. I am watching, and rather addicted to, The Outlander – residing on Netflix. It is an amazing tale – the hero Claire is transported back in time to 18th century Scotland. (New readers will not know that I am 100% Scottish. It is truly fascinating. She marries the most amazing Scottish man, Jamie. He is everything anyone could want in a man bold, courageous, smart, caring, kind – you name it he has it. But here is the strangest part – except for the hair he looks just like the man who ended his test with “I think I love you” I have decided to share the entire text – it does not invade his privacy as his name is not mentioned and we are not together so no one would meet him, He does not read my blog so he will not be offended.
“U are good company btw. I loved our conversations in your bed in-between common w y. I like where your head is at. I like the way you do not give a fuck about anything and I love embracing your body when you childhood catches up with u in your head and all you need is a man’s chest to cry on. I think I love u. “

I am thinking that I will have that etched on my tombstone when I get around to dying. Of course, noting my age at the time it was written, and I suppose the age of the young man who wrote it. (37). He does have a problem with my age -teasing that I was more than double his age – he seems rather amazed about it all. He says that I have three to eighteen years left. He clearly was not on Instagram nor reading the blog. There is a signed statement by my physician that I will live to at least one hundred. It was placed there to reassure the family of another 37 year old who called me Granny Alexis. It was a rather large family and there were many adolescents.

This enforced solitude is causing much reflection. I have determined that certain men have loved me so much that they chose not to be with me because they knew that I would not be happy living the life that they did, and must. “One wrote: I love you and the feeling but I am scared: I want you to be happy but I want you to be happy with me.” That is rather tragic. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps they wisely decided not to marry me for other sound and good reasons but it does not harm anyone to harbor these delusions. There have been more than one in my lifetime – I think five. It is really rather pleasant to feel loved but not have the responsibility of a relationship, Relationships take work and compromises must be made. My third marriage lasted 18 years and I was always trying and thinking if I did something different it would work. That was sheer stupidity as Paul Skvaril was incapable of love and a controlling brute. I hung in there because of the eight grandchildren born during the marriage. But that was not enough to keep us together and now I do not see any of the grandchildren. I am fine with it. A prenuptial agreement kept my retirement safe from his hands and I did enjoy being Granny Alexis and was very good at it.

I spoke to Personal Driver to ask him of his current feelings about the Sultan. He said before when he was in the picture.
He: I feel pity for him every second of every day.
Me: What are your feelings for the Sultan now? .
He: I grieve for him as you are not in his life anymore.

I reached out to my Canadian cousins inquiring about their health – word came from two and they are well. My cousin Gail cryptically wrote:
She: I am glad that you have not lost your sense of humour
Me: Yes, if anything it is getting worse. It is my favorite trait but it is a bit strange having only me to laugh at my own jokes.

I am again having problems with my Uncle Dave book. CPI was most helpful:
She: Seems to me that your relationship with Uncle Dave bears a resemblance to a sine wave – a series of peaks and troughs. What you see in this trough is a failure to live up to his potential. You can’t possibly know what else he might have done since he died so young, and think how late you came to writing. Aren’t you looking for the essence of Uncle Dave, the context of his life within the war years and your family? Have you given any thought to the ultimate arc of the book through all these peaks and troughs? A conclusion and judgement or would you leave that up to the reader? So he was flawed, don’t lose what drew you to him in the first place and I don’t think it was a mutual love of sports.
We don’t have masks yet – Canada Post can’t deal with the “Christmas Rush so I can’t send love from the masked woman.
Me: As usual you are most helpful and wise and funny. “not a mutual love of sports.”
I guess the problem I am having with his dying young was that he died because he was careless. He was piloting a motor boat (not his), his flakey wife dropped her purse in the water, he went to retrieve it and the boat capsized. The boat owner, his daughter and Aunt Eunice were rescued and made it to shore. It was a needless, heedless tragedy.

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